Nymphadora Tonks and the Dead Parrot
by OliveOilMed
Summary: When Nymphadora Tonks accompanied Arthur Weasley to a London pet shop as an Auror escort for an official Ministry investigation, she imagined them being in and out with very little fuss. She was very wrong.


**Author's Note:** This is yet another Monty Python inspired story written as a Christmas gift for Tim the Enchater, known as Pseudonym Sam on this site. The Dead Parrot sketch is one of his favorite, and I just had to write a story inspired by it. I hope you all enjoy it to, and Happy Insert-Holiday-Here, Tim!

Nymphadora Tonks and the Dead Parrot

Tonks bit her tongue as she struggled to twist the complicated knots involved in tying a tie. She might have been raised a witch, just like anyone else, but there would still be occasions when her father would be called back to the Muggle world—for weddings and funerals and the like—and it would hardly have done for him to show up wearing wizard robes. The only problem was that Ted Tonks was as hopeless as tying a tie as even the purest of pureblood wizards, and that was the reason why it had been necessary for his young daughter to become an expert hand at the art from a young age.

A small part of Tonks' brain wondered if this was the true reason why _she_ had been chosen to accompany Mr. Arthur Weasley as his entitled Auror escort on his 'official Ministry business'. At the very least, the man could _attempt_ to keep his Muggle disguise in order, give Tonks a small degree of dignity in all of this. Although, given the exact nature of the bit of Ministry business Mr. Weasley was acting on today made Tonks unsure of just how possible dignity was going to be.

The man they were calling upon was one who could hardly be called a criminal in terms of what Tonks had come to expect as an Auror. He was a pureblood wizard—educated at Hogwarts, as talented as any other student—but on a chance excursion to London, a lovely Muggle woman had sat next to him on a park bench, and as the story went, it was love at first sight. Most cases like this would have involved the Muggle partner simply assimilating into the wizarding world, but the wizard in question, instead, had chosen to merge himself into the Muggle world, taking every step short of snapping his wand in half. He had even gone as far as to open his own business in the same Muggle neighborhood in which he and his wife had first met.

It was for that reason that Tonks and Mr. Weasley were here in the first place.

The business the wizard owned was a pet shop that specialized more in animals than supplies, and it was that aspect that proved to be why the Misuse of Muggle Artifacts Department had needed to be called in. The accusations that had been coming into the Ministry were that the animals that were being sold in this pet store were, in fact, not real animals at all. The man, it was alleged, was taking ordinary found-objects picked up off the street and Transfigured into Muggle pets, which would then be sold off to the unsuspecting Muggles of London.

On paper, it really did not seem like the man was doing anything criminal or even illegal, but the real explanation for the visit from Mr. Weasley rested more on the limitations of Transfiguration itself, rather than any actual law or regulation put forth by the Ministry. True, _living_ animals could not be transfigured from inanimate objects; it was a violation of Gamp's Law, pure and simple. Certainly, though, it was possible to create something that definitely _looked_ like an animal from a non-living object. It might even breathe and move about the room more a little while, but it was not a _real_ animal in any sense that could be imagined. After all, a pig transfigured from a desk, then cooked and eaten would have the exact same nutritional value as the desk from which it had been Transfigured from.

The animals being sold in this pet store were not a great deal different. While in the store, the parakeets, the gerbils, and the turtles would appear lively and cute, but as soon as the Muggle brought them home, the creatures would slowly begin reverting to the true natures of the shoe or the beer bottle or whatever else it was they had been Transfigured from.

Mr. Weasley had said that it was unlikely that the man committing these crimes was probably not doing so out of any kind of hatred for Muggles or desire to see them suffer; it was just that bits of trash on the street carried a much larger profit margin than real animals from real breeders did.

All the same, it was still a crime, and Mr. Weasley and Tonks had arrived in London that morning in an attempt to put a stop to it.

Catching someone allegedly guilty of only Muggle-baiting seemed like a pitiful waste of an Auror's efforts, but Tonks was the most junior of everyone in the office, so of course the duty of serving as Mr. Weasley's guard had fallen her shoulders.

Using a small compact mirror as a guide, Tonks shifted her hair to the same carrot-orange shade the Weasleys shared, also allowing her hair to grow longer than it had been in years. She even took care to dot her face with freckles and make her nose just a little bit larger than it truly was. She then pondered if she should change her eye color as well, but wasn't allowed time to make that decision, as Mr. Weasley took off speeding out off out of the alley, ready and raring to go, a rather large and bulky bird cage in his right hand. Compared to Tonks, the older gentleman was quite anxious to take on what had to be a great deal more exciting than whatever it was he usually was expected to do for the Ministry. He _did_ need an Auror escort, after all.

The pet shop rested on a crowded street full of grimy storefront windows and Muggles who seemed intent on starting a war with one another, judging by the way they were pushing their ways down the pavement. The inside of the store seemed to carry the same sort of dingy feel, the air thick with the smell of animals and old tobacco smoke.

The man at the counter, presumably the store owner they had come here to speak to, gave Tonks a leering look—an expression that could be recognized on anyone's face. Tonks cursed herself under her breath. She knew she should have chosen a homelier disguise, but then again, the first rules of disguising herself that she had learn from her training were not to stand out, and especially ugly people, she was sorry to say, had a tendency to do that.

Mr. Weasley strode boldly into the pet store, the birdcage hoisted high. "Hello, I wish to register a complaint."

The store owner still didn't seem to notice anyone in the store—aside from the disguised Tonks, anyway — so Mr. Weasley spoke louder. "Hello, miss?"

The shop owner looked up, confused. "What do you mean 'miss'?"

Mr. Weasley smiled to himself at having the trick work. "Oh, I'm sorry, I have a cold. I wish to make a complaint!"

"We're closin' for lunch—"

" Never mind that, my lad" Mr. Wealsey interrupted — quite loudly and in a way that could not be ignored. "I wish to complain about this parrot that I purchased not half an hour ago from this very boutique."

The store owner glanced down at the bird cage in Mr. Weasley's hand. "Oh yes, the, uh, the Norwegian Blue.... What's, uh.... What's wrong with it?"

"I'll tell you what's wrong with it, my lad." Mr. Weasley thrust the cage in the shop owner's face. "It's dead; that's what's wrong with it!"

Tonks, of course, had not been there when Arthur Weasley had bought the bird. The parrot was not even a parrot; it was actually a Transfigured bar of soap, as Mr. Weasley had learned when he had brought the creature back to the Ministry. Already, it was beginning to take on the characteristics of a bar of soap, meaning it was laying flat on the bottom of its cage, doing absolutely nothing. Tonks wasn't even completely convinced there _was_ such a bird as the Norwegian Blue.

The shop owner pushed his nose forward, closer to the cage, but it was clear that his eyes weren't really focusing on anything.

" No, no," the man insisted. "'e's uh...he's resting."

Mr. Weasley's jaw dropped slightly at the pathetic explanation. "Look, sir, I know a dead parrot when I see one, and I'm looking at one right now."

"No, no! He's not dead. He's-he's restin'!" The shop owner continued to argue. "Remarkable bird, the Norwegian Blue, idn'it, ay? Beautiful plumage!"

"The plumage doesn't enter into it," Mr Weasley answered coldly. "It's stone dead."

" No no no no," the man said again and again. "No, no! 'E's resting!

Mr. Weasley raised his eyebrows. "Alright then, if he's resting, I'll wake him up!"

Holding up the cage up so he could yell in the parrot's…ear, Mr. Weasley shouted at the top of his lungs. "Hello, Paulie! I've got a nice cuttlefish for you when you wake up, Paulie Parrot!"

While Mr. Weasley was yelling at the soap bird, the shop owner reached forward, giving the cage a sharp, quick tap, thereby jolting the cage and the fake bird inside."There, it moved!"

"No, it didn't!" Mr. Weasley's eyes went wide with disbelief. "That was you pushing the cage!"

"I did not!"

"Yes, you did!"

Taking it one step further, Mr. Weasley yanked the dead parrot from its perch, pulled it from its cage, and began truly yelling in the creature's supposed ear. "HELLO, PAULIE! PAUUU-LIIIIE!"

When there was no response, of course, Mr. Weasley began banging the bird's dead body against the store counter. "PAULIE PARROT, WAKE UP!" There was more banging the bird against the counter, but the creature remained just as stiff as ever. "PAUUU-LIIIIE!"

Finally, Mr. Weasley finished the demonstration by tossing the bird into the air, but instead of taking off into flight and saving itself, it went crashing to the floor, the clunking sound it made sounding remarkably soap-like to Tonks' ears.

Mr. Weasley straightened his Muggle jacket over his shoulders and placed the birdcage on the floor beside its dearly departed former resident. "Now _that's_ what I call a dead parrot."

"No, no.... No, 'e's stunned!"

Mr. Weasley looked up, shocked that this argument was still carrying on. "STUNNED?" he gaped.

"Yeah! You stunned him just as he was wakin' up! Norwegian Blues stun easily, major."

"Now look, mate, I've definitely had enough of this!" Mr. Weasley exclaimed, clearly growing increasingly frustrated. "That parrot is definitely deceased, and when I purchased it not half an hour ago, you assured me that its total lack of movement was due to it 'being tired and shagged out following a prolonged squawk.'"

"Well, he's...he's, ah...probably pining for the fjords."

"PINING for the _FJORDS_? What kind of talk is that?" Mr. Weasley slammed the deceased bird on the counter. "Look, why did he fall flat on his back the moment I got him home?

"The Norwegian Blue prefers kippin' on its back!" the owner argued before reverting back to his old standby line. "Remarkable bird, id'nit, squire? Lovely plumage!"

Tonks rolled her eyes while Mr. Weasley continued on with what was beginning to look more and more like a lost cause. "Look, I took the liberty of examining that parrot when I got it home, and I discovered the only reason that it had been sitting on its perch in the first place was that it had been _nailed_ there."

There was a pause as the pet shop owner attempted to formulate a new lie.

"Well, o'course it was nailed there! If I hadn't nailed that bird down, it would have nuzzled up to those bars, bent 'em apart with its beak, and VOOM!"

"VOOM?" Mr. Weasley repeated. "Young sir, this bird wouldn't 'voom' if you put four million volts through it! He's bleeding demised!

"No, no! 'E's pining!" the man insisted, floundering now.

"He's not pining! He's passed on!" Mr. Weasley argued, taking advantage of his superior height as he towered over the shop keeper. "This parrot is no more! He has ceased to be! He's expired and gone to meet his maker! He's a stiff! Bereft of life, he rests in peace! If you hadn't nailed him to the perch, he'd be pushing up the daisies! His metabolic processes are now history! He's off the twig! He's kicked the bucket, he's shuffled off his mortal coil, run down the curtain, and joined the bleeding choir invisible!"

Standing off to the side, Tonks couldn't help but be somewhat impressed by the rantings of Mr. Weasley, and mildly entertaining, as well.

Finally, Mr. Weasley finished quite loudly, "THIS IS AN EX-PARROT!"

Tonks couldn't help but giggle behind her fist. It was all just so…so very pitiful, but Tonks could not stop herself from watching the scene. It was almost like watching a train wreck, or one of those old British comedy shows, right down to the two funny middle-aged men.

It was clear that the man had nothing else to say.

"Well, I'd better replace it, then."

While the shop owner rummaged through his back shelves, Mr. Weasley gave a deep sigh and looked over his shoulder, back at Tonks. "I tell you, girl, if you want to get anything done in this country, you've got to complain until you're blue in the mouth."

But before Tonks could offer a reply, the shop owner returned, empty-handed. "Sorry, squire, I've had a look 'round the back of the shop, and uh, we're right out of parrots."

Mr. Weasley pursed his lips in annoyance. "I see. I see; I get the picture."

The shop owner made another offer. "I got a slug."

Mr. Weasley blinked at the uneven comparison. "Pray, does it talk?"

The man behind the counter shook his head. "Not really, no."

"Well, it's hardly a bloody replacement, is it?

"Look," the man said, handing Mr. Weasley a business card, "if you go to my brother's pet shop in Bolton, he'll replace the parrot for you."

Mr. Weasley eyed over the card. "Bolton, eh? Very well."

Leaving the cage on the ground, Mr. Weasley made his way for the door before remembering the additional person he had in tow. "C'mon now, girl, we're off for Bolton."

For obvious reasons, of course, they couldn't Apparate to the brother's store in Bolton. If the brother told the first shop owner that Tonks and Mr. Weasley had arrived at his store mere seconds after leaving his, he would have known right then and there that he had been found out by the Ministry, and would very likely go on the run. They had no choice but to travel by Muggle means: the train.

After a long walk, a crowded train ride, and another long walk down another stretch of dirty city pavement, they found the address of the supposed brother's pet. The word 'supposed' was in Tonks' mind, because the moment she and Mr. Weasley walked through the door, they were encountered a near-identical scene to the one they had just left, complete with a remarkably similar-looking shop owner at the counter, save for the very large mustache on his face.

As Mr. Weasley approached the counter, he stopped suddenly, picking up a bird cage with a blue, soap-like parrot resting at the bottom of the cage…exactly where he had left the bird cage in the first pet store.

"This is Bolton, is it?" he asked the man behind the counter.

The mustached owner shook his head. "No, it's Ipswitch."

Mr. Weasley took a deep, frustrated breath. "That's inter-city rail for you."

Mr. Weasley took off for the door once again; and just like before, stopped just short of it when he remembered his company on this journey. "Ton…" he began, before remembering the very important rule of not using real names while undercover. "Love, aren't you coming with me?"

"No," Tonks told him. "I'm going to stay and play with the kittens."

"But then how will you…" Mr. Weasley stopped mid-sentence, realizing he could not complete it without exposing the reason behind their visit to the pet shop. "Alright, then. I will come back for you when I am done, alright?"

And with that, Mr. Weasley walked out the door, chimes ringing over his head, and Tonks took a seat on the pet shop floor. She really hadn't seen the point in going down to the train station to complain that they had been taken to the wrong location, and Tonks had a very strong feeling she would be seeing the red-haired man once again, very soon. So, Tonks settled in beside the cat cage and waited.

Playing with the kittens really didn't turn out to be that fulfilling. Tonks could be quite sure what these creatures had been transfigured from, but by the way they continued to spew black gunk all over her hands, she guessed that it might have been a box of defective pens that had been thrown out for good reason.

Sure enough, in less than a half hour, Tonk heard a very familiar bell chiming and looked up to see Mr. Weasley storming through the door, his face so red that his freckles were completely bleached out. In as collective a manner as Tonks was sure he could manage, he strolled over to the counter, tapping his fingers on the surface.

"I understand this _is_ Bolton."

The shop owner pretended to be confused. "Yes?"

"You told me it was Ipswitch!"

The shop owner paused, trying to come up with an explanation. " ...It was a pun," he said finally.

"A PUN?"

The mustached man stuttered. "No, no...not a pun...What's that thing that spells the same backwards as forwards?"

"A palindrome...?" Mr. Weasley offered.

"Yeah, that's it!"

Now Mr. Weasley was furious. " It's not a palindrome!" Mr. Weasley argued, near at the point of stomping his feet like a child having a temper tantrum. "The palindrome of 'Bolton' would be 'Notlob'! It doesn't work!"

The store exhaled, as though it were now _he_ who was being troubled. "Well, what do you want?"

But Mr. Weasley held up both his hands in a stopping signal. "I'm not prepared to pursue my line of inquiry any longer as I think this is getting too silly!"

The man with the mustache nodded. "So you'll be leaving with buying anything?"

"Tonks, please just arrest this man! We have more than enough to establish a case!"

Finally able to do something besides standing off on the sidelines, Tonks rose to her feet, drew her wand, and bound the shop owner's arms behind his back in a Body Bind before he himself could reach for his own wand. The man put up surprisingly little struggle, as though he had known all along this was coming and this entire ruse's only purpose had been to give him more time to mentally prepare himself.

Tonks kept her guard completely on the shop owner while Mr. Weasley prepared to Apparate the three of them back to the Ministry. In the moments before leaving, though, Tonks peeked out of the corner of her eye to look down at the bird cage and the soap-bird on the floor. She knew that doing so went against everything that had been instilled in her through her Auror training, but she could not help it.

She simply could not believe she would be able to say, after today, that she had taken nearly five hours out of her time to arrest one man—all because of a bar of blue soap!


End file.
